One Cake for Many: A Lesson in God’s Abundance
Mary Stephens has spent several years serving with our Globalscope campus ministry in Viña del Mar, Chile, where she helped launch and build the El Oasis community. Shaped by her own cross-cultural experiences in Peru and Chile during college, Mary has developed a deep love for relational ministry and creating spaces of belonging.
While recently exploring other CMF ministries, Mary spent time with our partners Missions of Hope International in Kenya. In this reflection, she shares a simple yet profound moment that revealed God’s abundance in an unexpected way.
We arrived safely in Kenya and quickly stepped into life with Missions of Hope International, learning about their work among communities facing deep poverty. Over a couple of days, we visited schools, met staff, and spent time with students—receiving far more hospitality than I was prepared for.
One afternoon, a small group of us headed into a school auditorium. I wasn’t entirely sure what we were there for. Earlier that day, we had led an activity for about thirty 10th-grade students, many of whom came from difficult circumstances. So, as we walked in, I assumed we might be doing something similar again.
But this time felt different.
There were about 50 or 60 students seated in rows, some dressed in colorful, almost costume-like outfits. There was a quiet sense of anticipation in the room. As we were invited to move our chairs closer to the front, it started to feel like we were part of something special—maybe even a performance.
Then I noticed it: a white pastry box on a table, slightly too small for whatever was inside, with foil stretched over the opening. It looked like cake. But why was there a cake sitting in front of a room full of students?
A few minutes later, the principal stepped forward and welcomed us to a farewell ceremony.
The pieces began to fall into place.
Students performed dances for us. One student offered a speech and a blessing. Then more singing and dancing—and before we knew it, we had been pulled in to join them, laughing and moving together in the same joyful rhythm.
And then the cake.
The principal uncovered it—a beautifully decorated cake, the kind you might expect to serve 10 or 12 people. As soon as I saw it, my mind began to fill in the next part of the story. I imagined the teachers handing slices of cake to our group while the students—many of whom rely on school meals for daily nourishment—watched from their seats.
I think that thought came from everything I had been experiencing. For the past day and a half, I had walked through places marked by deep need. And yet, everywhere we went, we were met with generosity. People welcomed us into their homes. They prayed for us. They offered tea, food, songs, questions, and laughter.
Students who could easily say, “I have nothing,” kept offering what they did have—over and over again.
So, I expected the same pattern to continue: we would receive, and they would watch.
But that’s not what happened.
Instead, the cake was cut into small, bite-sized pieces. First, the teachers handed pieces to us. Some of us received them on forks, others in our hands, and we all laughed together in the process. Then, just as quickly, the plates were placed into our hands—and we were invited to serve the students.
Soon, everyone in the room was eating cake.
And when there was still more left, we carried it outside and shared it with others—teachers, staff, students, even security guards. Everyone received a piece.
One cake became enough for many.
It reminded me of Jesus—of how we remember Him in the breaking of bread, and of the story of the loaves and fish that fed thousands. What I witnessed that day felt like a glimpse of that same kind of abundance.
Not abundance born out of excess, but out of gratitude and generosity—multiplied by the Spirit.
It left me wondering: what am I holding onto out of fear that there won’t be enough? What has God placed in my hands that could be shared, trusted, and multiplied into something more?
Sometimes, it looks like cake.
Many of our students at Thuis are deeply passionate about sustainability and caring for the planet. That passion is part of what led me to start a creation care small group. Caring for the earth is important to me personally, and I see it as a meaningful opportunity to explore what God says about creation, our role in stewarding it, and how caring for the world around us is one way we love our neighbors. It’s also a way to talk about God’s redemptive plan through Jesus and His great love for both the world and the people in it. I see creation care as another bridge into faith conversations.
Several new students joined us that evening and became connected to Thuis, which was one of my hopes in collaborating with Shelter City. We often see ourselves as bridge builders—creating space for meaningful connection by partnering with other organizations, sharing hospitality, and inviting students into deeper conversations.
Today, the story is changing.
